


Sugar Sweet

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blushing, Dirty Talk, Dom!Tony, Dom/sub, Feminization, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Needles, Piercings, Sexual Identity, Sexual exploration, Steve Rogers is a very good boy, Sugar Daddy, Teasing, Twinks, sub!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 15:26:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14404992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: Part figuring out how to assimilate Steve's sexuality into modern ideas of orientation and gender, part burgeoning D/s relationship, part mild-to-moderate sugar daddy exploration. Basically, Tony's creative and Steve is a very, very good boy.





	Sugar Sweet

“What about Lynn who works downstairs?”

“No, Tony.” Steve looks up from his bowl of pasta, rolling his eyes. “Are you and Natasha teaming up now, or something?” It’s well past 2 am in the communal kitchen, but the Avengers run on unusual schedules, and Tony’s in jeans and a faded t-shirt, smelling of grease, so undoubtedly coming off an engineering bender. Steve doesn’t have much of an excuse, except that he’s always hungry.

“Technically, yes. But not in relation to your dating life. I’m just trying to be helpful, find you a nice patriotic girl.”

“Not interested,” Steve deflects easily. Or, so he thinks. Tony’s eyes narrow slightly, his gaze sharper.

“Ohhh.” He grins, points a spoon at Steve. He’s eating cereal with chocolate milk, God only knows why, and a few drops fall off the spoon back into his bowl when he does it. “Nice patriotic _boy_.”

Steve can’t help but blush, but it’s not a secret. It’s not even something you’re supposed to be ashamed of, these days, and Tony’s own bisexuality is legendary. He shrugs. “Warmer, but still no thanks. I’m not really dating.”

“Yeah, because you’re not _trying_.” Tony’s grin widens and he hops up on the counter, miraculously not spilling any milk. “Seriously, body like that, if I know the gays—and I do—you put yourself out on the scene and you’ll have three dozen offers in no time.”

Steve snorts. “Sure. Not the offers I want, though.”

“What kind of offers _do_ you want?”

“Uh.” He frowns, regretting his wording immediately. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Sure it does. You’ve saved the world, like, at least six times by now, and New York twice that many. You deserve whatever kind of booty floats your boat.” Tony puts his cereal down next to him, slips a Starkphone from his pocket. “Let me help you set up a Grindr profile.”

“A what?”

“Grindr. All the boys are doing it. Trust me, whatever you’re into, there are at least five guys on the island of Manhattan who can deliver in thirty minutes or less. Or are you more a long walks on the beach type? We could do OkCupid.”

Steve frowns. “It’s not that simple.”

“Steve. _Steve_. Trust me when I say, there is somewhere out there for everyone. And nothing you’re into is going to be weird enough to shock me.”

“It’s not _that._ I just…” Steve sighs, hangs his head for a moment, scrubbing his hands over his eyes. “It’s not about the kind of… man I’m looking for,” he explains, still unable to avoid blushing at the admission. “It’s about the kind of man I am.”

Tony frowns. “Tall, blonde, muscles for days?”

“Exactly.”

The frown deepens. “Okay, you’re actually gonna have to explain that one.”

“You can’t… hook me up,” Steve explains, remembering Natasha’s term, “because the kind of thing I like… in bed…” — his cheeks feel like firecrackers now, but he soldiers on — “...doesn’t work with this body. I don’t… look, I just don’t think I can have sex with a guy like… this.” He waves his hands helplessly to indicate his form, then takes a large bite of penne to keep himself from going on. Tony doesn’t stop frowning, and for half a second he’s actually silent.

“So… you’re saying you did have sex with guys before? Before the serum?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. Our neighborhood was a bit… well. Yeah.”

“Okay. And you want something in bed that you can’t do now, badly enough that it’s keeping you from dating entirely. Do you have an extreme fetish for being bench-pressed or something?”

Steve snorts out a laugh. “That’s an interesting mental image.”

Tony goes back to grinning, waggles his eyebrows. “If you can make it up, there’s porn of it on the Internet,” he promises.

“I’ll bet.” Steve smiles, feeling a little more comfortable. “But no. That’s not it. I just… look, you know how today everything’s very… equal? Like… gay rights. Everything I’ve read, it’s about equality, being able to get married like normal people. Being gay doesn’t make you different, it doesn’t say anything about you, right?”

“Right,” Tony agrees.

“It didn’t used to be like that. When I was growing up, it was… different. The point wasn’t being equal, I mean… you were queer. You weren’t like other people and you knew it. So you weren’t fighting to be just like any other guy, if you were a pansy, you just kind of accepted that or you didn’t.”

“Ah.” Tony has a look of understanding now, at least somewhat. “And you were little, so… you were a pansy?”

“Right. After dark, anyway.” Steve shrugs. “I first knew how I was when some of the dock workers and the sailors started whistling at me when I was walking alone at night. I was scared, but… not _just_ scared.” He eats another bite of pasta, and Tony’s quiet, letting him continue. “It felt nice. Being admired. I didn’t have that anywhere else in life, you know?”

Tony nods. “Bet you were a hot commodity in that scene, though.”

“Yeah.” Steve smiles, shaking his head. “I… was getting a lot more tail than Bucky ever knew about, that’s for sure. He always worried about me not having a date, but…”

“Little did he know,” Tony smirks, and Steve can’t help but share a conspiratorial smile.

“Exactly.”

“Did you ever… have a boyfriend? Or whatever they called it back then.”

Steve shakes his head. “Not really. I liked to imagine I might have a fella one day, but… it was harder. If you wanted something more permanent. Some girls—some fairies, I mean—did, but… I lived with Bucky up until the war. It wouldn’t have worked. I had some regular dates, though. It was nice, they made me feel really...taken care of.” He smiles, back to blushing. “I guess it’s silly.”

“Nah,” Tony disagrees, putting his empty cereal bowl in the sink. “Sounds pretty good to me.”

“Yeah… it was good while it lasted. I spent most of my life struggling to be strong enough, back then. So it was nice to have this one thing where I didn’t have to struggle, where it was someone else’s job to make sure I was all right.” Steve shrugs.

“So… why the hell did you volunteer for the super soldier program, then?” Tony asks, looking baffled. “Sounds like you had it pretty good with all the boys.”

Steve barks a laugh, shaking his head. “Sure, if you’re talking about _sex_ , but it wasn’t like I could just get a ring on my finger and let my husband bring home the bacon. You ever tried finding a job in a major economic depression when you weigh 95 pounds and have chronic asthma?”

“Touché.”

“Even trade wasn’t going to pay all the bills. Besides… I knew it wasn’t normal. It felt like a chance to do something really right. Maybe the serum would fix me, maybe I’d end up liking girls if I got big and strong, and more likely… honestly, I never expected to live to forty, Tony. I wasn’t healthy enough. At least with the serum I’d die for my country, like my dad had. Seemed the only way I could go out honorably.”

“Yeah,” Tony says after a long silence, sliding down from the counter. “I… know that feeling.”

Steve shrugs. “So I didn’t die. Didn’t end up liking girls either, though. It was a bit of a shock.”

“Seriously?” Tony rolls his eyes. “You didn’t really think muscles were gonna turn you straight, did you?”

“It was a different time! All the manly guys liked girls…”

“...’cept the ones whose dicks _you_ were sucking, apparently.”

“They still liked girls,” Steve argues, though the blush is back. “Or fairies at least. But usually girls, too. I never liked fairies.”

Tony shrugs. “All right, I’ll give you a pass on historical gender norms. So you thought the serum would make you like femmey types, and it didn’t turn out that way.”

“Right. I thought maybe once I was stronger, once things were easier, I wouldn’t need to feel taken care of like that, but... I guess I’m just wired this way. Maybe they're right these days, about gay just being a thing you _are,_ whether you like pitching or catching. Or maybe I did it to myself, with all the dates back then. Either way, it seems pretty permanent.”

“Fair enough. Do you really think you can’t have that in this body, though? I mean… I know it’s gotta suck, you had it pretty good then, but you could still find a guy to take care of you. Hell, there are plenty of big guys who do drag, if the girly stuff is part of it for you.”

“Eugh, no.” Steve makes a face. “Look at me! I’d be the world’s ugliest fairy.”

Tony laughs. “I wouldn’t go that far. But maybe you could find a more modern compromise, if you don’t feel comfortable in the same styles you used to like. I mean… the gay gym scene has a _lot_ of buff bottoms. You could find yourself a Daddy type there who’s into muscle twinks.”

Steve frowns. “I… think I understood most of that.”

Tony giggles, there’s no other word for it. “Steven, Steven…” He comes around the island, slings an arm around Steve’s shoulders, or at least most of the way up them. “What if I took you out on the town? I haven’t been to a gay sauna in ages…”

“Oh God, I don’t know. That’s… really direct, isn’t it? I’m not sure I could just ask a stranger if I could… y’know…”

“Maybe you wouldn’t have to ask.” Tony grins, steering Steve to the sofas now that he’s finished his pasta. “Just lean back, look pretty, wear a very small towel.... someone will get the message eventually. Ooh, or you could start flagging.”

“Flagging?” Steve sits with his back against the corner of the sofa, Tony sideways and cross-legged facing him.

“Yeah, keys or a hanky in your right back pocket, means you bottom. Guys who’re into it pick up on the signal, random heteros don’t.”

“What about random paparazzi?” Steve asks, skeptical.

“Okay, point, if you’re not quite ready for a coming out bash. But if privacy is a thing, you probably shouldn’t be hanging out at bathhouses either.”

“Yeah…” Steve smiles. “You’re sweet, but it’s really okay. I have a lot in my life now. I don’t _have_ to get laid.”

“Ever, though? This doesn’t sound like a viable long-term solution.”

Steve shrugs. “Look at it this way—in my day, sex was literally the only place my body felt right. All it ever did was betray me. And now… it’s the one place it feels wrong. So it doesn’t seem like so much to give up, that one single thing.”

“Maybe… it’s not just sex, though. You’re basically saying you’re never going to date.”

Steve shrugs. “Probably not. But I have a good life. I have you guys. And…” he blushes a bit, but says it anyway, “being surrounded by superheroes isn’t exactly bad for the, what is it, eye sugar?”

“Eye candy!” Tony barks out as a laugh, then groans. “Oh my godddd… have you seen Barton’s arms, though?”

Steve’s giggle is about as effeminate as he lets it be, this century, and he’s nodding in vigorous agreement, as if Tony’s just one of the girls from his old neighborhood. Once the pressure’s off, he realizes, as they get into a discussion about whether you’d rather get up close and personal with Clint’s thighs or Thor’s, this is the most relaxed he’s been in months. Without paying too much attention to the body he’s in, it feels nice to let go.

~*~

They don’t have any more late-night kitchen chats over the next few weeks, but Tony does pick up something of a habit of sending Steve dirty photos on his (thankfully, encrypted to within an inch of its life) phone. The photos vary in content and shock factor, from tasteful shots of fully clothed men with just a hint of the erotic to straight up porn. Some of them feature very effeminate boys, others not, but there’s always at least an element of power exchange, a clear variation in body type. Steve’s a bit embarrassed, but he doesn’t tell Tony to stop, nor does he refrain from a few enthusiastic jerk-fests in the privacy of his own bedroom. He doesn’t respond at all, but Tony keeps sending the photos, sometimes with a little note, sometimes without.

In the rest of their lives, things are as normal. Tony’s often in his workshop or handling SI business, while Steve alternates between meetings with SHIELD handlers and higher-ups and intermittent field work. There’s one more intense mission, though, that ends with the entire team getting drunk in the communal living area. Even Steve’s lightly buzzed on some Asgardian liquor Thor had helpfully provided, and he ends up sprawled on one end of a sofa, listening to war stories and SHIELD gossip until one by one, the Avengers peel off and head to bed. Tony, sprawled mostly on the floor with his upper half propped against Steve’s couch, stays until they’re the last two left, with Steve promising to get him to bed okay before Natasha finally turns in. For his part, Tony just waits until they’re alone and then slides his empty glass away across the floor, propping himself back on his hands and giving Steve a very slow, deliberate up-and-down look.

“Can I help you?” Steve asks, giving Tony a bemused smile.

“I wish I were… taller.” Tony’s murmur is low, thoughtful and seductive. Steve gulps, not sure why such an inane statement suddenly sounds so dirty.

“Uh… what?”

“You know.” He waves a hand fluidly in the air, outlining nothing in particular. “I wish I were more your type. Bigger.”

Steve bites down on his lip. Tony’s loose-limbed, relaxed, not a state Steve gets to see him in often. He’s attractive. Steve can admit that, easy. That’s certainly not the problem.

“You’re not… _not_ my type,” Steve admits, picking at a nonexistent thread in the upholstery and looking at his lap because he can’t quite meet Tony’s eye as he admits it. “You’re… I like your arms. And your beard.” He’s definitely at least a little buzzed. He doesn’t think he’d be able to say that sober. “But I’m still me. Bulky, y’know. Awkward.”

Tony slides across the floor when Steve finally does glance his way, and then crawls right up next to him on the couch. He shouldn’t look quite so graceful doing it. “Did you like the photos?” he asks, voice still low, almost a purr. Steve feels his cheeks heat predictably.

“I… yeah.” He suddenly has no doubt that those were _not_ just fun eye candy shared among gossipy queer friends.

Tony grins. “Close your eyes. Just for a minute.”

Steve hesitates only a second before he does as he’s told. He feels Tony’s body, next to him, rearranging so he’s snuggled up next to Steve, warm breath against Steve’s ear. “That older one I found, in black and white with the sassy little boy in the scarf smoking a cigarette? I imagined that was you,” Tony murmurs, a hand resting lightly on Steve’s thigh. “I could see you like that… all righteous and chatty over politics, pretty much just daring some brawny tough to shut you up.” Steve inhales shallowly, grips the arm of the sofa. He can’t quite think how to respond, but Tony takes his silence as permission.

“I bet you sucked cock like a pro, back in the day. Would’ve felt nice, having a nice big calloused hand cradling your skull, holding you like you were fragile, much as you didn’t want to be. Bet it was good, though, feeling like you couldn’t get away, opening up wide, relaxing into it… doubt you gave it away to just anybody, but I can imagine some guys treating you real nice, calling you sweetheart, charming their way down your throat and kissing you nice and sweet afterwards.”

He doesn’t have it entirely right, but it’s close enough for Steve to sink into a memory, his lips stretched around a nice fat length and a hand tight in his hair. He never quite got away with makeup and jewelry, couldn’t afford it anyways, but he used to wish he had a nice red lip to stain a guy’s dick, maybe some silk stockings to rub enticingly against a bare calf. Sometimes they’d call him a sweet girl, and he didn’t much mind, not the way it made him feel safe and protected and cherished. In the daylight, sure, he’d get his back up at anyone insinuating he couldn’t protect his own damn self, but there was something nice about it, relaxing at night.

“I know you’re the good girl type,” Tony murmurs in his ear, slightly slurred, his hand inching just barely up Steve’s thigh, “but I’ve always been more of a bad boy. In fact, I’ve been thinking since the last time we talked about what kind of a pass I might be able to get away with, with you. Whether I could touch you somehow. Whether you might like it.”

“Oh,” Steve says softly, his head tipping back against the sofa, exposing his throat. He doesn’t open his eyes, and Tony just presses a soft kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“I want to make you feel good,” Tony continues, a rumble against Steve’s throat as he keeps kissing, soft presses of his mouth trailing back to the side of Steve’s neck. He’s starting to feel warm, starting to get hard. It’s been so long since anyone touched him like this, and he’s starting to forget why he abstains. When Tony’s mouth caresses just below his ear, he lets out an embarrassing little whimper and Tony groans something like delight. “Jesus,” he hisses. “Please, Steve. Let me make you feel good. I’ll make you feel _so_ good,” Tony promises, sucking gently on his earlobe, free hand slipping between Steve’s lower back and the sofa to stroke along Steve’s spine where sweat’s starting to pool. Steve whimpers a little more, squirms just barely. He can’t quite decide what to say, in words, but Tony bites down and tugs on his earlobe and Steve gives way to a needy moan.

“Fuck,” Tony growls, and he shifts and then Steve feels Tony’s knees bracketing his thighs, straddling his lap. He doesn’t sit down, but bends forward and sucks up a mark at the tender part of Steve’s throat that makes his hips jerk. “Can I put my hand in your lap, honey? Please?” Tony asks, nuzzling into Steve’s throat. “Promise I’ll be gentle.”

At that, Steve lets a little laugh escape, and suddenly it all feels so _easy_. “Don’t,” he murmurs. “Don’t you dare be gentle.” He looks up, then, and Tony’s grinning like Steve’s Santa Claus come bearing presents, and he kisses Steve full on the mouth. It’s good, and it’s better when Tony unzips him one handed, fishes his cock out, wraps his hand around it and gives it a firm squeeze. Steve sucks a little on Tony’s tongue, but then lets his head fall back again, eyes closing.

“Beautiful,” Tony praises, and there’s a whisper of a wet sound that Steve doesn’t track until Tony’s other hand comes to grip him with a spit-slick palm, stroking firmly. “Fucking gorgeous,” he continues as Steve groans, rocking his hips a bit into Tony’s rhythm. “Bet you were the prettiest fairy in all of Brooklyn. Mine now,” he adds, a confident declaration that Steve doesn’t examine too closely as Tony noses his collar out of the way and bites down hard against his collarbone. Steve whimpers, pushes with his hips, unable to censor his own noises as he grows fully hard in Tony’s hand. The tower’s rooms are all soundproof, at least. It’s nothing like the tenements and alleys he used to fuck in, where a big sweaty hand was pressed against his mouth half the time he didn’t have something in it. He’s never been quiet, unlikely to start now. But Tony eats it up, sucking and biting everywhere he can reach in response to Steve’s sounds.

“That’s it, baby. Let me hear how you like it. Let me hear how I make you feel good,” he encourages, jerking Steve a little faster now. He whimpers and moans and lets his head roll from side to side as his orgasm approaches, fast and unavoidable until he’s coming all over his t-shirt. Tony hums praise, suckling on his earlobe again as he milks the last few spurts out of Steve’s cock.

“Mmm. Prettiest twink I ever did see,” Tony confirms, and Steve just sinks bonelessly back into the cushions, waiting for his brain to catch up with the rest of him. Really, it’s no rush.

~*~

 _You are just _devastatingly_ good_ , the text reads, followed by a smiley face, then another text quick on its heels. _Thank you for last night._

Steve can feel the blush under his skin, heating all the way to his ears. _I think I’m supposed to be the one saying thank you_ , he responds, then pockets his phone and tries to actually pay attention to the agents he’s meeting with. It’s a losing battle, and the first thing he does when the meeting adjourns is check his phone again, finding two more texts from Tony.

_Trust me, Rogers. You are a gift. Let me have my gratitude._

_Honest, I haven’t had such a pretty boy underneath me in a very long time. Don’t suppose I could have him again?_

This time, the yellow smile is winking. Steve bites his lip, ducks into an alcove and types his response.

 _If you’d like_ , he starts, then frowns a bit. In truth, he’s assumed the alcohol had a lot to do with what happened. He’s a little surprised that Tony even wants another go. _I didn’t think I was your type_ , he adds before tapping “Send.” He’s walking out of the building by the time his pocket buzzes again.

_What, tall, blonde, subby, muscles for days?_

Steve makes a mental note to Google “subby.”

_You know what I mean. I thought you were like me. More… what’s the word you used, instead of fairy?_

_Twink? I’m not anything, really. I like all sorts. I like making people feel good._

A pause, then another text.

_I liked making YOU feel good._

Steve’s definitely blushing now.

_Still. I’m sorry it’s… complicated._

_Don’t apologize. It was awesome. You were awesome. You ARE awesome. I am definitely not going to let you keep being so defeatist about your sexual preferences, so get used to it. I’m going to rock your world._

Steve licks his lips.

_Again?_

The response is a string of emoji that don’t mean anything to Steve, followed by a more legible message.

_Seriously. Speak up if you don’t like something, but let me play a bit. Science is all about tweaking things—figuring out what works, what doesn’t. I won’t be offended._

_Okay._

_Gotta go now. Be good._

Another winking smile, and Steve only realizes after tucking his phone away again that he’s just standing in the middle of the sidewalk grinning like an idiot. He forces himself to start walking, but the smile doesn’t fade for a good while longer.

~*~

For the next few days, Steve gets no more action than Tony’s clever smiles in the company of others. He almost thinks Tony’s changed his mind about his interest, or is interested in teasing Steve but not necessarily in another actual round, when he suddenly gets a media message in the middle of the day. He opens the image and nearly chokes, staring at a man’s hard cock with someone’s bright red lips wrapped around it. It’s close up enough, and the person’s jawline is sharp enough, that Steve’s not totally sure whether the person giving the blowjob is a man or a woman. He thumbs back to the texting app, and finds Tony’s accompanying message.

_I’m a bad, bad man. But I do love your mouth._

Steve groans, very glad that he’s in his own private apartment, and not in any of the communal areas. He’s already starting to tent his pants, and drops to the sofa with a loud sigh. He can’t stop himself from picturing it, wondering if the lipstick would feel soft or waxy, wondering what the smudges would look like on Tony’s dick. Wondering what _Tony’s dick_ looks like, and suddenly desperate to know. He starts to type ten different responses before he finally decides he’s taking too long and just sends a single word.

_please?_

The reply is immediate.

_Gotta work, sugar. But maybe I wouldn’t complain when I came back to the penthouse around midnight if I found a sweet thing there waiting patiently on his knees. Just saying._

Another rush of blood pools in Steve’s groin, and he’s tossing the phone aside on the sofa to get his hand down his pants. There’s no way he’ll last till midnight, otherwise.

~*~

By ten minutes to midnight, Steve’s kneeling at the foot of Tony’s bed, the carpet plush enough that he doesn’t need a pillow. He’d agonized over whether to be naked or not, but in the end modesty forces him to compromise, and he’s wearing a pair of simple black briefs. The t-shirt and sweats he wore in the elevator in case he ran into someone else are neatly folded and stacked away in the living room. He loses track of time, sitting on his heels, head bowed, just thinking about what’s going to happen, but soon enough he hears the elevator doors open, followed by the just-audible sounds of Tony’s entrance, fabric on fabric, leather shoes on the wood paneling in the living area. He looks up as Tony enters the room, hopeful, and the man is gorgeous in his full finery, three piece suit with the tie loosened, smile like a shark’s. He tosses the jacket over a chair and stalks towards Steve, predatory, but stops a few inches away from Steve’s knees.

Steve tilts his head up, silent, waiting for Tony to bend down and kiss him, maybe, and instead watches as one hand slides into a front pocket, emerging with a black metal tube. Steve inhales sharply, and Tony grins.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, uncapping the lipstick, and Steve watches as Tony twists the tube open, stick of bright red emerging with the word “Dior” stamped on the side. He bends down and takes a firm hold of Steve’s chin, Steve’s lips parting obediently to let Tony smear the substance over them. It’s not waxy at all, just soft and even satiny on Steve’s dry lips, but he’s more focused on the tight grip on his jaw, Tony’s eyes intent on his work, the bulge evident in Tony’s pants right in front of his face. He keeps his head still, but the rest of him shudders.

“There you are,” Tony pronounces, capping the tube and returning it to his pocket. But he doesn’t stay in Steve’s personal space, instead steps back to the wall and leans against it, casual, grinning at Steve. “Pretty boy. Have you been thinking about me?” he asks, and Steve’s mouth goes dry as Tony unzips his fly, pulls his cock out and takes himself in hand.

“Yes,” he whispers, and then clears his throat. “Yes, I have,” Steve affirms, a little louder.

“Good boy. I’ve been thinking about you. Too many damn meetings, and all I can think about is your pretty, pretty mouth.” Tony’s smile is wicked as he squeezes himself, eyes tracing Steve’s body shamelessly. Steve feels his cheeks warm, wonders what he looks like blushing hot to match the lipstick.

“I… I’m sorry?”

Tony just laughs, strokes himself slowly to hardness. “No you’re not.” A few more strokes, and then he’s stepping forward again, confident, walking right up and feeding his cock to Steve with one hand. Steve’s eager, mouth open wide, tongue already extending. “Sweet thing,” Tony purrs in praise, and Steve can’t help but notice the little things, the undoubtedly expensive watch on Tony’s wrist above where he holds himself, the calloused fingers, the musky scent of him. It’s been a while, but he relaxes his throat, closes his eyes, lets the little tickle at the back of his throat send a spike of submission through his bones as he surrenders to it.

“Oh, fuck,” Tony mutters when Steve takes him deep, and his hand shifts to grab tightly at Steve’s hair. He wastes no time in directing Steve, using his grip to guide Steve up and down his cock and groaning in pleasure at the suction. “You are a fucking dream, Rogers. Pretty little mouth… I cannot _believe_ I didn’t think of the applications of how long you can hold your breath until this moment.” Steve would smile, if he could. He can’t, so he just lets himself go to it, lets Tony fuck his throat until the man is grinding into his face with abandon for the last few thrusts. He shouts, tightens his grip on Steve’s hair, and then relaxes, letting Steve reluctantly slide off. Blinking, he notices the bit of red on Tony’s cock, barely noticeable, and frowns a bit. Above him, Tony just laughs.

“Should’ve brought you the cheap stuff, sweetheart, if you wanted a better visual. But you’re too precious, I couldn’t help myself.” He grins down at Steve, licks his lips, brushes a thumb over Steve’s mouth. Still a little dazed, Steve takes the tip of it and sucks. Sometimes after he does this he gets greedy, wanting anything in his mouth he can possibly have there. He used to suck lollipops, but this is better.

“C’mere. Have a look at yourself,” Tony offers, and hauls Steve up by the upper arms, catching him when he stumbles a bit at the pins and needles in his feet. He guides Steve to a full-length mirror, and Steve just stares, his body all hard masculine planes as usual but his mouth stained a brilliant red, the lines of his lips just barely smeared at the edges and slick from spit. In the mirror, Tony grins and loops his arms around Steve from behind, keeps him standing there as he leans in and bites hard at Steve’s trapezius muscle.

“Tony!” Steve gasps, and Tony just reaches around and palms Steve’s cock through his underwear, unrepentant.

“Oh, baby,” Tony sighs in mock concern, grinning against Steve’s upper arm and only half-hidden from the mirror. “You’re all wet.” Steve blushes, looks at the floor, and doesn’t complain when Tony leads him gleefully away to his bed.

~*~

Over the next two weeks, Steve has almost as much sex as he’s had in his entire _life_ up to this point. He wonders occasionally, whether he’s Tony’s flavor of the moment, but if that’s the case he doesn’t actually think he’s that bothered. He never actually believed he could have a _relationship_ with a man, so he doesn’t set the bar particularly high, and he loves what he’s getting right now. Eventually, work starts to become a little more pressing, so Tony reluctantly lets him go off to SHIELD meetings he’s been rescheduling and gets back to his own SI and Avengers responsibilities.

It’s after one of those endless SHIELD meetings, in fact, that Steve comes home with Clint and Natasha to find Tony in the common area, jumping up from the sofa with a grin.

“I come bearing gifts! Well… a gift. For one of you.”

Steve’s smile is a little embarrassed—Barton and Romanov know that the two of them have been up to something, but maybe not _exactly_ what—but it’s not him Tony turns to, holding out a gorgeous new compound bow and bowing slightly. “Your upgrades, Agent Bullseye.”

“Sweet!” Clint crows, grabbing the bow from him and immediately starting to turn it around in his hands, inspecting its features. Still fiddling, he wanders over the sofa, and starts to sing in a surprisingly pleasant baritone. “If you want some sugar, baby, c’mon sugar daddy bring it home…”

Tony just snorts indulgently, but he looks pleased at the reaction to his handiwork. “All right, Hedwig.”

“Sorry, what?” Steve’s a little lost, and a tiny tiny part of him that he would never expose is a little sad that the present wasn’t for him. Tony opens his mouth to explain the reference, but Clint cuts him off.

“Steve! Dude! You need to see something,” Clint grins. “I mean, you need to see the whole movie, but check this out, it’s a cultural experience.” He waves Steve over, and Steve obligingly goes to sit next to Clint on the sofa as Clint asks JARVIS to cue up Neil Patrick Harris’s Tony performance of “Sugar In My Bowl.” It’s...rather alarming, to realize this was actually broadcast on public television, and a little uncomfortable to watch the heavily sexualized drag performance while sitting next to Clint. But it also raises another question.

“I think ‘sugar daddy’ doesn’t mean what it used to mean… or not exactly.”

“No idea,” Clint admits, balancing his new bow on one hand to test the weight. “But now it’s like, an older rich guy who gives you stuff for… favors.” Clint smirks, pointing to Tony with his chin. “Hence, Stark equals Daddy in this building.”

Steve frowns, not sure he likes where this is going. “What kind of favors?” he asks, hoping he doesn’t sound too obviously jealous. But for once, his legendary (presumed) prudishness kind of saves him in this instance.

“Don’t worry, Captain Morality,” Clint assures him, patting Steve’s knee and not _quite_ rolling his eyes. “In Tony’s case, just covering his ass in battle. No HR violations to worry about here.”

“... right. Well… thanks for the education,” Steve offers, getting up and moving to the elevators as naturally as possible, so no one notices he’s making a tactical retreat. Of course, Tony notices _everything_ , when he’s not lost in his work, but he doesn’t say anything and Steve resolves to forget about the whole affair.

That lasts less than 24 hours.

 _Is it wrong that it made me hot when you were jealous of Clint?_ the note reads, messily scrawled on a little bifold card taped to the top of a square gift box. Steve opens the box and gasps at the diamond bracelet inside. It’s not overly gaudy or even too feminine, just a classy band of small square diamonds that almost looks like a thin cuff rather than a bracelet. But it’s still _diamonds_. Steve stares for a minute, then can’t help himself, and tries it on.

Tony has meetings, so Steve can’t thank him in person, and it’s late enough that Tony texts him not to wait up, but the next morning when he wakes, he finds an easel in the living room with a large canvas on it, a gift-wrapped box on the floor underneath full of high-quality paints and charcoals and other art supplies. _To the only boy for me_ , the note reads this time. Flustered, Steve realizes that if he doesn’t say something, the extravagant gifts aren’t going to stop, and so he rides the elevator up to the penthouse, marching directly into Tony’s room.

“Okay, the presents were really sweet, but you don’t have to _buy_ things for me to prove a point,” he exclaims, standing at the foot of the bed where Tony is sitting, probably naked under the covers, drinking coffee and reading something on his tablet. At Steve’s entrance, he grins and puts the tablet on his nightstand, then takes a sip of coffee with his eyebrows raised.

“What?” Steve asks when Tony doesn’t say anything. Tony just nods to a point around Steve’s arm, and then Steve looks down and turns tomato red when he realizes it.

“You’re wearing the bracelet. Did you sleep in that?” Tony asks softly, and Steve shrugs.

“I… uh…”

“C’mere.” Tony pats the mattress next to him, and Steve climbs in, still in his sleep t-shirt and sweats. “Admit it,” Tony teases, stroking a hand through Steve’s hair and guiding his head to rest on Tony’s chest. “You didn’t like Clint making innuendo about my being his sugar daddy.”

“Well… no,” Steve sighs, “but you can do what you want, Tony. I know we haven’t made any agreements to each other.”

“No? I’d be happy to make an agreement to you. If you’ll be honest with me.”

“...of course I will be. I’m always honest,” Steve points out, something in his chest swelling up at Tony’s easy willingness to take this further.

“True. So tell me… you do like being doted on a bit, don’t you sweetheart?” Tony asks, his tone a little triumphant. “You like me buying you presents.”

“I… yes,” Steve sighs, relaxing a little into Tony’s body. “I guess I do, but… nothing too ridiculous. I don’t want you to feel like I want you for your money. I _don’t_ , really, I’m not…”

“I know that, sweetheart,” Tony reassures him, his hand coming to gently brace at the back of Steve’s neck, a light pressure resting there. “Trust me. I can spot a gold digger coming a mile away, with my background. That’s not you.”

“No,” Steve agrees. “I’d be perfectly happy if you were the only gift you ever gave me again.”

“Romantic,” Tony laughs lightly, kissing the top of his head. “Still kind of want to spoil you, though.” He sips some more at his coffee, petting Steve intermittently, and Steve starts to go loose and fully relaxed, legs twining with Tony’s. “I think… it’s obvious that you want me for the way I take care of you. And sometimes I want to spend money to facilitate that. But that’s different from wanting me _for_ my money. It’s just that gifts are one way to make you feel cherished.”

“I don’t only want you for the way you take care of me, either,” Steve argues, kissing his chest. “I want you for a lot of reasons.”

“Oh yeah?” Now Tony’s all cocky, setting his coffee aside and tugging Steve up for a kiss. “Wanna tell me about those? Possibly in detail. With demonstrations.”

Steve giggles, but he doesn’t say no. They’ve got time.

~*~

Tony is clearly hell bent on making Steve blush, as often and as deeply as possible. One afternoon when his schedule is free, but Tony’s isn’t, Steve gets into a car JARVIS tells him has been sent for him by Mr. Stark, and finds himself being driven to a very fancy day spa, of all places. The receptionist is expecting him, and leads him into a private room where he’s told to strip down above the waist and sit on the table to wait for his aesthetician. The room is dim and smells faintly floral.

_What exactly is this??_

_You’ve never had a facial, have you?_

_Uh, no. I think I look like an idiot in here. All the other clients are women with designer haircuts and thousand-dollar handbags._

_Doesn’t matter what you look like, baby._ Steve frowns, watches the “Tony Stark is typing…” message, and then turns beet red when the next text arrives, just as a thin woman in a grey uniform walks into the room. _Maybe Daddy wants you to feel nice. Maybe it’s not up to you._ Stammering, Steve locks his phone and tosses it on top of his pile of clothes on the chair in the corner.

“Uh, sorry, I didn’t know when you’d be… um…”

“No problem,” the woman offers with a smile, her voice gentle. “Go ahead and lie back and we’ll get started…”

The facial _is_ nice, Steve has to admit, once he gets over the weirdness of strange hands constantly touching his face and neck. So is the massage that follows, and while the mani-pedi is just plain weird, at least they use clear polish. Tony looks pleased with their work, at least, when Steve meets him for dinner later, content and relaxed. Later, he keeps petting Steve’s face, ranting about the wonders of exfoliation. After that, the spa trips become almost routine, and Steve gets used to the warm feeling low in his belly each time he gets whisked off to be pampered at Tony’s request.

Another night, Tony has a dinner with the SI board and other major shareholders, and Steve doesn’t expect to see his boyfriend at all, but he’s summoned to the penthouse at a quarter to seven and finds Tony alone in the bathroom in his underwear, neatening his signature goatee. The night before, he’d used the stubble coming in around it to rub Steve’s inner thighs a bit raw, and Steve blushes thinking of it.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Tony greets him without actually looking away from the mirror. “My suit’s hanging on the door. Be a doll and help me get ready?”

Steve’s not quite sure why Tony’s asked for the help, especially when he doesn’t even get a kiss hello, but then he notices the heat in the eyes that stay sharp on him throughout the proceedings. Steve buttons his crisp black shirt, helps him into his trousers and silver-threaded waistcoat, ties his tie and fastens his cufflinks and then steps around behind him to slip the jacket over his arms, blushing progressively deeper all the while. The lack of conversation brings heat to the simple actions, drawn out by the sheer number of accessories Tony’s lain out on the dresser. Steve has to fold and place a pocket square, attach a sterling tie bar, fasten a luxury watch, even figure out what the hell to do with a pocket chain. But with each item he feels more and more _possessed_ by Tony’s warm stare, and he’s half in that gauzy headspace Tony seems to bring out in him by the time he kneels to attend to Tony’s shoes and socks.

“I could wreck you,” is the first thing Tony actually says, when Steve’s tied the last shoelace knot, pulling him up to stand by a painful grip in his hair. Steve definitely, quite audibly, whimpers. “But throwing you down on the bed right now would ruin the line of my suit.”

“Also, it may be worth noting, Sir, you are seven minutes late.”

“Not really worth noting right now,” Tony says in a quiet rumble probably not entirely meant for JARVIS. He shifts his hand to cup Steve’s face, strokes with his thumb, and Steve closes his eyes, tilting into it. “How are you so _good_ for me?” Tony asks, voice low and awed. It’s probably rhetorical, so Steve doesn’t say anything, but angles to kiss Tony’s palm. That gets him, _finally_ , a kiss on the mouth, rough and greedy, before Tony pulls away and leaves him gasping.

“Goddamnit,” Tony growls, and visibly forces himself away from Steve. “I have to go. Be here when I get back,” he demands, and Steve doesn’t even bother to reply as Tony breezes out of the room. It’s obvious that he’ll obey.

~*~

Steve still misses his old body. Possibly more, now, that he has reason to be thinking — _frequently_ — about sex, and can’t help but notice that he stands a head taller than Tony, that it’s awkward for him to be little spoon when they sleep together. But at the same time, the way Tony looks at him — _constantly_ — is enough to make him feel very small indeed, stripped bare and flayed open. Tony’s a master at commanding a room through body language alone, and while it might be overkill in most 1-on-1 situations, Steve laps it up. Plus, he spends a fair amount of time on his knees, or with his head in Tony’s lap, and it ends up evening out to something positive on the whole.

Even in his sex life, Tony Stark is an inventor, and he never shies away from a challenge. Sometimes he’ll ask Steve for constructive notes after a play session, or throw out ideas via text message during the work day to see how they’ll stick. Steve’s becoming an expert in hiding erections under conference tables, and if anyone at SHIELD has noticed how infrequently the Cap takes his meetings walking around the room these days, they don’t mention it.

“I have a theory,” Tony suggests one afternoon, flicking a freshly healed nipple piercing. Steve gasps, but keeps his chest presented for Tony’s amusement, shoulders back, kneeling on the floor at the sofa between Tony’s feet.

“What’s that?” Steve asks, breathless as a calloused finger circles his areola. Apparently piercings like these normally take many more weeks to heal, but advantage serum in his case. Tony had pierced them himself, wearing black gloves and wielding a sterilized needle, and that probably shouldn’t have made Steve hard but it did anyway.

“You want to be pretty, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Steve blushes and blinks down at the carpet, because of _course_ he does, he misses that, and it’s almost cruel of Tony to bring it up, but it’s not false. “Yes,” he admits quietly, a little raspy. There’s a brief beat before Tony grips his jaw, forces his chin up, and looks him in the eye again.

“And that right there proves my theory right.” His smile is gentle, even as Steve’s heart squeezes in pain. “Steven. You think pretty is something to strive for, yeah?”

“I guess.” Steve frowns, thinking of the tubes of lipstick Tony’s purchased for him, the diamond bracelet. “But not… I mean, I know I can’t…”

“Shhh. That’s my point. You don’t think a body like yours can _be_ pretty. You’ve got it all attached to femininity and size and maybe some other things as well. But look at you.” He gives one nipple a pinch, lets Steve’s breath hitch. “You are _so_ pretty, sweetheart.” Steve’s blush deepens, and Tony just rubs his thumb over Steve’s mouth, relentless. “And I don’t like this disconnect. I want you to know that I don’t put nice things on you because I’m trying to _make_ you pretty, it’s because you already _are_ my pretty boy, and I want to adorn you. Put shiny toys on my shiny toy.” He grins, and Steve just keeps blushing, eyes darting away and then back to Tony every few seconds, unsure what to say. The idea makes him swell with pride, even if it feels ridiculous, feels like a farce.

“C’mon,” Tony says after a moment. “Get up. I want you naked.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees, relieved for something to _do_. He pushes quickly to his feet, feeling the short strings of diamonds attached to the gold rings on his nipples jangle as he does so. He’s already barefoot and shirtless, so he just shoves his pants and underwear down, kicks them aside and goes back down to his knees. “You, too?” he asks, reaching for Tony’s top button, but Tony’s catches his wrists and gives him a shark’s smile.

“No. I want you naked for me, pretty boy. That’s all.”

“Okay,” Steve mumbles. His face is on fire now.

“Look at me,” Tony demands again, and Steve does it, the intensity in Tony’s eyes threatening to drown him. “My sweet, sweet toy,” he says slowly, deliberately. Steve shifts a little on his knees, needing to do _something_. “God,” Tony growls. “This is bad. I think I’m developing an actual kink for your blush.”

Steve isn’t sure what to say to that, just licks his lips. Tony laughs lightly and rubs his thumb over Steve’s mouth, then sits back, letting go of his wrists. “Put your hands behind your back. Push your chest out for me again.” Steve does as he’s told. “See that? Look at that.” Tony reaches out with a bare foot, casually traces down the line of Steve’s abdomen. “I want you to be very clear on one thing, Rogers. This body you’re in, right now? It’s _mine_ ,” Tony proclaims, his eyes hard again. Steve shudders, but nods quickly, fiercely. “And I like it just fine.” Steve starts to duck his head, but forces himself to keep his eyes on Tony’s, and acquiesces with a small sigh.

“Yes, Tony. I understand.”

“That’s the way,” Tony purrs, dropping his foot to rub Steve’s thigh. His smile is fond now, a little devious. Steve smiles back, because he likes Tony likes this. Easy. “I know in your day if you wanted a man to take care of you, you needed to look a certain way, but it's not like that now.” His foot drifts to Steve’s erection, lifts and pushes it against his belly. “I think you're gorgeous, gorgeous. And I wanna take care of my sweet boy. You gonna let me?”

“Yes,” Steve whispers, then clears his throat. “All right.”

“Mm. Good. Squeeze your pecs for me,” Tony orders, and Steve just stares at him for a second, before Tony’s eyebrows go up. “Well?”

Steve bites his lip and lifts his hands, gripping his own chest and giving the muscles a squeeze. He feels ridiculous, but Tony just grins. “Like I said. Pretty. Pretty shiny rocks on pretty hard muscles on my pretty, pretty boy. I like you showing yourself off for me. Next time I think I’m gonna jerk off to you, just like this. You won’t even have to participate, just sit there looking delectable for me.” The sole of his foot rubs, just a bit, at Steve’s dick, and he whimpers again.

“Tony.”

“Hmm. No.”

“Sir,” Steve tries, thinking of the captions on some of the photos Tony’s sent, but Tony just smiles at him, presses his foot a little harder.

“Back straight. Don’t resist.” Steve gulps. “And try again.”

Steve frowns, wracking his brain for what Tony wants.

“Pull at those, while you’re thinking about it. Make your nipples hurt for me.”

Struggling a bit now to keep his posture with how hard Tony’s pinning his dick in place, but in no way losing his erection, Steve reaches up and tugs. Perhaps harder than he meant to, because the sensation makes him cry out, but Tony seems pleased.

“Again.”

Steve gasps, bites back Tony’s name, rocks just a bit against his foot as the pain swells in his chest.

“Don’t you like your new toys, baby?” Tony’s tone is cruel and condescending and wickedly pleased and Steve doesn’t know why he _likes_ it so much. “Again.”

Steve tugs, just as hard, and his eyes fly open as he realizes in time with the bolt of pain. “ _Daddy_!”

“Oh, _good_ boy,” Tony purrs, and suddenly he’s actually rubbing Steve’s dick with his foot, enough to make him shoot suddenly without expecting it, blush bright as he catches himself in the chin, gasping. “ _Fuck_ me,” Tony growls in response, and knocks Steve straight back onto the floor, knees still bent so that his thighs burn a bit as Tony straddles him and tongues his mouth open. He holds Steve’s hands flat to the floor, and licks at his chin as Steve’s cock still shudders its last little aftershocks against Tony’s belly. He has half a thought for the expensive fabric before Tony’s getting his cock out and jerking off right over Steve’s newly adorned chest. He keeps his hands where Tony put them, as Tony braces himself on one hand on the floor, until Tony’s growling at him again to squeeze his pecs together, and then coming in pearly lines down the center of his chest. Steve can’t help but stare, as Tony catches his breath, at the creamy spatter framed by glittering strings of diamonds, and before he knows it Tony’s fishing the Starkphone out of his pocket, grinning at Steve as he taps the screen.

“You like it,” Tony teases, then taps another couple of times and tosses the phone aside. “Texted it to you.”

“Um… thanks,” Steve replies, blushing predictably as he imagines what the picture will look like.

“Seriously. Kinking on that blush,” Tony declares cheerfully, kissing Steve’s cheek before pushing himself up. “But score three points for me. Looking at yourself like something to look at.” He looks positively triumphant, and Steve can’t help but acknowledge that it’s progress—even if progress is terribly, obscenely, dirty. Now he just needs a towel.

~*~

The blush kink ends up being a whole _thing_ , because now Tony just cannot stop whispering filthy things in Steve’s ear in public, and seeing how red he can make him without people noticing. Plus, the porn Tony sends him has shifted a bit, more beefy guys in pretty jewelry or skimpy underwear, or just oiled up and naked on their knees, and Steve can’t help but notice that every time he gets one of those media messages on his phone, he’s within close range of a security camera of some kind. He’s half waiting to lose his job for being indiscreet in public, and half doesn’t care. They haven’t told the other Avengers about their relationship, officially, but the more Tony embarrasses Steve at various events, or in front of the others at home with double entendre, the more Steve wonders how much they suspect. Perhaps the Captain America persona is something of a shield (ha, ha) but they do live with professionals in the art of espionage.

And then, of course, there are other clues.

“Hey Rogers, you wanna get dinner with me and Barton tonight?” Natasha offers one evening.

“Oh, sure!” Steve agrees. “JARVIS, I’m free tonight, right?”

“Actually, Captain, you have an appointment at 8 pm.”

“Oh, shoot. That’s new—but if we can be back in a couple of hours, then sure thing.”

Natasha tilts her head to the side. “You don’t make your own calendar appointments?”

“Well… mostly. Tony must’ve put something on there earlier, though.”

Her eyebrows lift just a bit, and Steve suddenly realizes his blunder. “Stark has write access to your calendar?”

“Oh… sure,” he hastily tries to cover. “Sometimes he wants me to help out with something, y’know, military tech and stuff. Avengers ideas. I figured it’d be an easy way for him to schedule with me.” In truth, Tony had never _asked_. Steve’s only now realizing that level of access is not SOP...and the idea gives him a little thrill. Natasha holds his gaze for another ten seconds, and then drops it.

“All right, well, let’s get a move on, if you’re on a timetable.” Yeah. She definitely knows what’s up.

~*~

Steve is pretty sure no one on earth owns as many precious gemstones in the form of nipple jewelry as he does, and he doesn’t even wear the things most of the time. No, the fancier jewelry is entirely for playtime, as he has to be a bit more practical about daytime wear, especially given how tight his damned costume is. So he keeps plain gold barbells in most of the time, even if they do still rub against his shirts and make him quite aware of his own chest. The thing is, he can’t actually leave them empty with his healing factor, not if he wants them to stay pierced. They’d figured that out quickly on his ears, the first time they’d tried it, and now Tony just re-pierces Steve’s ears on occasion, when he feels like it.

What Steve’s surprised to enjoy so much, despite its temporary nature, is when they try full-on needleplay, dozens of needles threaded through Steve’s skin and strung with ribbon or feathers or whatever the hell Tony feels like on the night. They try dermals, too, pretty jewels dotting his skin at Tony’s favorite spots for the duration of a session. It’s not just the fun of being made into art, though he does get a thrill from Tony’s appraising eye turned on him that way, but it’s also the sharp sensation of the needles, the way Tony looks with the black latex gloves covering his skin up to the wrist, the feeling of being both on display and touched almost clinically. He feels very much like Tony’s toy in those moments, and the endorphins zinging through his bloodstream from all the pain make him loopy and receptive. When he’s finished everything he wants to put on Steve’s body, Tony strokes his skin and traces Steve’s form with predatory eyes and sometimes jerks off over his work, eyeing Steve hungrily but never quite giving in to Steve’s quiet pleas to fuck him. Steve’s weirdly okay with that.

~*~

“I noticed something,” Tony declares one night, after they’ve been out to dinner at a little Italian place Tony likes (probably as much for the long tablecloths that hide him stroking Steve’s calves with his foot under the table as for the food). They’re in Tony’s bedroom, but still dressed. Steve cocks his head in question and Tony tugs him close by his hands, but not quite into a hug. “I know you like to wear an analog watch, but this one runs a bit slow,” Tony explains, gently unbuckling the leather band and carelessly tossing Steve’s watch into the trash. Steve frowns a bit, watching it go, but Tony’s already reaching for a velvet box on the dresser that wasn’t there this morning, opening it up and removing a sparkling silver replacement with a sleek black face.

“I thought it was time for an upgrade. So _this_ is a limited edition Omega diving watch. Tough enough to stand up to your lifestyle, and well-engineered enough to keep even me happy,” he explains, fastening the band around Steve’s wrist and then gently kissing the skin just above it.

Steve looks at the watch for just a moment, and then up at Tony with a little smile. “Is that expensive?”

“ _Very_ expensive.” Tony smirks. “They only made twenty of them, you can’t even buy this in a store.” He tugs Steve the rest of the way in, runs his fingertips up Steve’s spine until he shivers. “So everyone who knows watches is going to see you wearing this, and they’re going to know someone takes good care of you. And some of them are going to do the math and guess that it’s me. How does that feel?” He pushes up on his toes to bite at Steve’s earlobe, and Steve shivers harder.

“I want them to,” he admits, maybe too quickly. “I want them to know you… that I’m yours.”

“No question,” Tony agrees immediately, sharp and possessive. His cheek scrapes against Steve’s as he turns to claim Steve’s mouth, and then push them both back onto the bed. Steve thinks about his words, the idea of some other billionaire seeing the watch on Steve’s wrist and connecting the dots right back to Tony, thinking he’s Tony’s kept boy, and he moans a little into Tony’s mouth, grinding up against him. Just below the new watch, Tony pins his wrists to the bed, and Steve lets the familiar weight tug him down.

 


End file.
